


Whiskey Tango

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 05:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “Can we be friends?” Michael asks.“I don’t know,” Alex says.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: "Now i feel how it's like to be left behind and i wish i never came back from war." for Malex please. Alex is spiraling into depression after Michael got together with Maria.

“Are you Michael? Alex’s friend?”

Michael frowns and fights the urge to deny he has that title. The voice on the other end definitely doesn’t seem to care about the situation and Michael doesn’t actually want to share. So he swipes his hand through his curls and ignores the emotions that title brings up.

“Yeah,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“He’s down at the Fourth Encounter. I took his keys but he’s being stubborn.”

“I’m on my way,” Michael says.

He gets in the car with the energy under his skin crackling. He hasn’t seen Alex in weeks and Alex hasn’t tried to see him. It’s another unspoken thing that Michael doesn’t have room for. But he’s seen Alex subtly taking medications before. Medications that he’s willing to bet aren’t supposed to be taken with alcohol. He’s never seen Alex truly drunk and he’s got a feeling the experience is not going to be pleasant. He almost wonders why Alex just didn’t go to the Wild Pony, but in his heart he knows.

When he gets there the music is loud and it’s a lot darker than any place he expected to find Alex in. It’s not that he doesn’t know about the local gay bar, it’s just not his style. You don’t need to like loud music and neon to be bisexual as far as he can tell. It’s the middle of the week so things are toned down and it’s a little more empty, which is how he easily finds Alex. Even before the bartender signals him.

“Hey,” he says, “you ready to go?”

“You called him?” Alex says, looking at the bartender. Michael can’t be sure but he thinks Alex blushes, “traitor,” he mutters and then turns to Michael with a smile that makes Michael regret picking up his phone, “I’m good.”

“I’m exhausted, so let’s go,” he says. Alex ignores him, “look, I’ll call a cab and just wait with you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Alex says.

Michael far prefers it when he’s the one getting wasted. But he hooks his fingers in the stool and tries to turn it. Of course he forgets Alex is the bionic man and when he hooks his metal ankle into the chair, that thing isn’t turning unless Michael goes full alien. He’s sure as fuck not being outed as an extra terrestrial to the general population in a bar called the Fourth Encounter. He’s also not leaving Alex there to drink himself silly.

“Look they 86’ed you here, but if you come with me I can take you to a place where there’s more,” he tempts.

“I’m not going near the Pony, thanks,” Alex says in a clipped tone. He gets up and Michael takes his keys from the bartender, “Guerin—“

“No drinking and driving,” Michael reminds him, “you want a cab or can I drive?”

Alex looks at him for a moment longer and then shakes his head. Michael swears because he remembers that Alex is a computer genius and can probably start his car with his phone. He intercepts and shoves it in his pocket alongside the keys. The sour expression on Alex’s face confirms the theory. Michael would be impressed if he didn’t have to get Alex home safe. Alex gets out into the parking lot and even now he glances around to make sure no-one he recognizes is there before he looks around for something else.

“Come on Alex,” Michael says, “just let me take you home.”

“I don’t want you to take me home,” Alex snaps at him, “I don’t need you to do that.”

Michael tries not to focus on the fact that Alex said he doesn’t need him. He refuses to let his own issues hurt Alex again. Alex can go as low as he wants. He’s drunk and upset and though Michael wants to ask why, he knows it’s not his place.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “fine. But I’ve got your phone and keys, so—“

Alex’s look of disgust should go in a photobook. But Michael knows he’s fucking right. Alex hangs his head as Michael counts in his before Alex walks over to Michael’s truck and gets in. Michael keeps his back to him so he can salute the stars for doing something right for once. Then he gets in, starts his car and pulls onto the road. Michael lets the silence swell up between them because his truck’s radio is currently on the fritz. He used to be able to be around Alex for hours and it was a comfortable silence. That’s not true anymore. When he can’t take the silence and its tension. He looks at Alex.

“So, why not the Pony?” He asks.

“Because you’re dating Maria.”

The sharpness in Alex’s voice is not what Michael expects. He almost swerves the car at the reply. Alex frowns and reaches for the radio dial but nothing happens. For the first time Michael’s not pissed about that.   
  
“We’re not dating,” he says, “we’re—“

“Screwing? Having a good time?”

“Jesus, Alex,” Michael isn’t ready for the accusation in his tone. Alex stares at him and Michael tries to focus on the road, “what do you want me to say? Yes. We’re having a good time,” he glances at him, “is that what you want me to say?” He shakes his head, “I like her. I like having a good time. You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“You are sleeping with my friend!” Alex says, “not some random girl.”

“So what if I am?” Michael challenges back. Alex looks away and Michael makes a split second decision and pulls over, “so what if I am?” He repeats. Alex glares at the road a moment longer and then turns to look at him, “why do you have a problem with it now?”

“I always had a problem with it,” Alex says and Michael feels smug right up until he opens his mouth again, “and you knew that I did,” the smugness goes away, “this isn’t some random hook up. It’s Maria.”

“I like her!” Michael protests, “I”m sorry, but—no. You know what? I’m not sorry. I like her,” he looks at him, “you can’t tell me who to like,” he points out, “you can’t just sit there and be a jealous dick without doing anything.”

“I did something—“

“After ten years!” Michael snaps, “ten years and you think me sleeping with Maria is the be all end all—“

“Michael if you’re using her,” Alex starts and Michael lets out a hollow laugh.

“You’re gonna what?” Alex says nothing, “throw me in a cell? Lock up the big bad alien?”

Alex glares and then shakes his head.

“You being an asshole is the most human thing about you,” he says. That stings more than Michael wants to admit. But if he’s an asshole, he’ll be an asshole, “we don’t lock people up for that.”

“No you that’s an off the books job,” he says, wiggling his fingers.

Alex stares at him and Michael puts on every defiance he can muster to meet his gaze, waiting for the return blow. Alex wants a fight and fuck it, he’ll give him one. Maybe it’ll be good for both of them. They clearly need the release. Or maybe he needs it. Maybe it’s his turn to be selfish in this for once and take what he needs. He feels himself ready in anticipation. Drunk Alex is mean, drunk Alex will fight him. But Drunk Alex is as much of a dick as sober Alex because he just looks ahead.

“Can we go?”

“No,” Michael says, adrenaline coursing through him, “do you wish you could lock me up?” he demands, clinging to the last thing that got a rise out of him. Alex shifts, “you do wish that, don’t you?”

“I wish,” Alex says, finally turning back to him, “that I never came back here after the war.”

The words hang heavy and poisonous in the air.

“Take that back,” Michael says. Alex says nothing, “take that back!”

He doesn’t know if Alex means he wishes he had died from the war or if he means he wishes he hadn’t come back to Roswell. Neither of those are things Michael wants to think about. If Alex never came back—Michael thinks about all the shit that’s happened since he got back. All the things he now knows and all the things he’s shared. Alex is being drunk and dramatic but Michael can’t have the words there. Can’t have that possibility existing.

“No.”

“Then we’re not going,” he says impulsively.

“Fine,” Alex says and gets out of the car.

Michael stares and then follows. Alex is walking remarkably straight for someone with one leg, but Michael doesn’t stop to think about that too hard. He’s far more concerned about the fact that Alex is drunk and walking down the side of the road.

“I thought you weren’t running away,” Michael challenges and Alex hesitates before continuing to walk. But it’s enough for Michael to get in front of him, “come on, Alex. I thought we were past this. Why’d they call me at the bar?”

Alex says nothing.

“Come on, Alex. Why’d they call me?”

“You know why!” Alex says, turning back to him so suddenly they almost crash into each other, “I was at your trailer waiting while you were—“ he stops and takes a breath, “I’m not you,” he restarts, “you not being there to be with her is a big deal for me.”

“For you?” Michael repeats, letting the anger he’s been shoving down forever swell up, “you think it wasn’t a big deal to me every time you left? Every time you walked away? I told myself that if I ever told you what I was, things would be different. But it’s the same! My family is dead. Max is in a coma and the thing that keeps me awake at night is the fact that I can’t look away and it hurts.”

He doesn’t mean to say so much, he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips. Alex looks away and Michael tries not to feel that in his bones. He fails, hopelessly. But the fact that Alex thinks it doesn’t kill him every damn time is something he can’t have any version of Alex believing. Even this drunk, angry version of him.

“I can’t make it stop hurting,” Alex says.

“Neither can I,” Michael shoots back.

“So where does that leave—“ he cuts himself off. Michael wonders if he’s done the impossible and actually made Alex leave for real this time, “seeing you with her hurts.”

“So we’re just hurting each other,” Michael throws his hands up, “like we don’t have enough problems.” He feels dirty as he looks at Alex, Alex whose the third person Michael’s ever wanted to protect. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“There’s nothing here for you to keep doing,” Alex says, a note of something truly heartbreaking in his voice, “that’s what I’m trying to say. Maria’s my friend. Any way you look at this I can’t go there again with you.”

Michael feels like he’s been dunked in ice. Of all the things that he thought could come out of this, Alex telling him that he can’t be with him because Maria is his friend is not one of them. But Alex has that brow furrow that comes in moments of honesty and Michael realizes he’s serious. Now the pain he feels when he looks at him is even worse. Heavier and sharper somehow. It’s tangible in a way it wasn’t before. No words seem to come to him as Alex blinks and looks away.

“Can we be friends?” Michael asks.

“I don’t know,” Alex says.

Another thing that never occurred to him. It has to be because Alex is drunk. It has to be. Maybe he’ll find some kind of luck and Alex won’t remember the conversation in the morning. Maybe this is some horrible future he can prevent if he’s strong enough and smart enough.

“For now we are so let me get you home,” he says, “before any more of it hits you.”

Alex looks at him for a moment and then nods. They don’t speak on the way back. Alex actually starts to doze against the window and Michael winces at every stupid bump in the road. He helps Alex out of the car and up to his front door and when Alex fumbles his keys, Michael hitches him against his hip and opens the door. Inside he gets Alex to bed and crouches down, helping get his shoes off. Alex watches him in the darkness and Michael focuses just on the task at hand.

“Do you want this on or off?” He asks.

“Off, just, put it where I can see it.”

A though occurs to him about Alex stumbling around the bedroom and Michael fights the urge to move all the furniture aside. Alex is capable and he’s just being an idiot, but what else is new. He sets the prosthetic within arms reach and puts Alex’s phone and keys on the nightstand. Alex eases himself back and turns away from Michael.

“I take it back,” he mutters.

Michael hangs his head. It hurts to look at Alex and it hurts to look away. He doesn’t see that changing any time in the near future. He make sure Alex’s shoes are away and his cane is nearby and then he has to put down all his bullshit and leave.

“I love you,” he says to the dark shape.

If Alex will remember in the morning, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything as he stands there except that the longer he does, the more he wants to stay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Can you write a follow up to the drunk Alex prompt. Basically Michael can’t shake what Alex said about wishing he never came back from war and it dawned on him so when Alex sobers up the next morning Michael confronts him about it. “I just want know if ... fuck are you suicidal?”

Alex expects to wake up with a dry mouth and a pounding headache.

It isn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he remembered to get water and put his leg within arms reach. The lack of Advil is strange, he’s usually better than that when it comes to a hangover. But he supposes it’s not weird and ignores the feeling in the back of his head. Instead he gets up and brushes his teeth to get rid of the truly awful taste and then goes to the kitchen to seek out coffee. He is never drinking again. Especially not at the Fourth Encounter. Apparently his plans for branching out his friends circle are going to have to be modified. He’s not a teenager who thinks glow sticks are a fashion accessory anymore. He has no idea what he was thinking. His entire body feels swollen and sore. God what if he had some kind of interaction? He should call his counselor. But coffee first. Moving into the living room, he barely manages to keep his grip on the mug.

Michael is there.

Shit.

Michael is not a big guy but when he sleeps, he has two modes. One is taking up as much space as possible. This is the other where he tries to take up the smallest corner and tuck himself in. It always makes him seem even bigger because he tries to look so small. He’s in a ball on Alex’s sofa. Suddenly the lack of Advil makes more sense. Setting down his coffee, Alex goes and gets another cup. The smell and the sound does wake Michael, he’s good at getting essential levels of rest but otherwise he is a light sleeper. He comes back as Michael is looking around. His eyes find Alex and the look on his face is something Alex thinks he should just attribute to Michael not having coffee. Of course it isn’t but he can dream another one of his most humiliating moments hasn’t played out in front of him.

“I’m guessing you got me home last night?” Michael nods, “thank you.”

Michael looks pained and Alex thinks about what could have possibly happened last night. What on earth did he do? He wants to demand answers but he sees Michael cautiously reach for the coffee and gets the feeling that demanding things is not going to help. Instead he lets Michael drink and slips into the kitchen, nearby but not on top of him and sends a message to his counselor. Michael looks gutted and worried and Alex has to fight the wave of self loathing and embarrassment that threatens to strangle him. He takes a deep breath, he can do this.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says abruptly, “I was on my way out I just—“ he moves the pharmacy basket of medications Alex has onto his lap. Alex fights the re-emerging wave of emotions, “they all said don’t take with alcohol,”  he says, “I got scared you were gonna stop breathing—“

“No, I’m sorry,” Alex cuts in, “you shouldn’t have had to babysit me because I did something stupid,” he comes over and sits on the couch, “thanks for staying.”

Michael looks at him and Alex forces himself to give him a minute to say what he wants. Or to figure out what to say. Finally frustration wins out and Michael sets the basket behind him again and looks at Alex.

“Are you—“ Michael grimaces, “I just wanna know—fuck,” he looks at Alex and wariness must show on his face because Michael’s features fall.

“Am I what?”

“Are you suicidal?”

Alex stares at him. Michael blurts the question out in such an earnest way that Alex has to shove down his own defensiveness. There are a lot of times when he and Michael have a lot in common. This is not one of those times. Alex knows the boxes he ticks, none of them apply to Michael. Michael’s got his own things people assume about him. Instead Alex tries to think what on earth he may have said that dug so deeply into Michael that he spent the night guarding his pills and checking he was breathing. He doesn’t have to think long, unfortunately. The angry words come back to him as coffee flows through. His stomach turns as he realizes what he said.

“Oh God.”

“If you are its okay we can just—“ he starts, grabbing his phone, “there’s places—“

“Michael it’s okay,” he says, “i’m not thinking about killing myself. I was lonely and did a stupid thing. I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” he promises, “i already called my counselor.”

Michael doesn’t look convinced and Alex knows he hurt him. God, he said he wished he never came back from war. He dumped his own emotions on Michael. Again. He swore he wasn’t going to do it this time. Not after what happened. He remembers Michael’s look of horror. The car stopping—humiliation churns in his gut and the same cut of regret that always seems to accompany thinking of Michael. The regret used to be cut with the wistfulness of someday. Now it’s just the gut punch of wasted opportunity. But Michael doesn’t need to hear his own stupid regrets. Not after everything.

“God, i didn’t mean—“ he looks at Michael, “i thought i could just get drunk and be upset. I didn’t want to put that on you.”

“Why did they call me?” Michael asks.

“Because I told the bartender about what a jerk i was and how that cost me you,” he says, “i was being drunk and stupid.”

“You’re on too many pills,” Michael says quietly.

“I know,” Alex says, embarrassment clenching his stomach, “i know.”

“What if you had gotten hurt?” Michael says, “what if i hadn’t been there?” Alex doesn’t have an answer for that. Michael’s agitation is palpable. He can see him hunching over, his hands tight on one another, “we can’t both do the stupid drunk stuff,” he says.

“I know,” Alex repeats, too sick to let his annoyance reflect on Michael.

“We can’t even be friends?” Michael reminds him, suddenly showing Alex all the boxes that he ticks.

“Of course we can,” Alex says, “I’m—“ he stops, “I’m not a fun drunk,” he says, “I didn’t want to be around the Pony because I knew I was going to say something stupid. The bartender wasn’t supposed to call you.”

“Why?” The word is so simple but Alex isn’t sure what he is asking. Why Alex is a mean drunk? Why Alex says stupid things? Why he wasn’t supposed to be called? He looks at Michael blankly and Michael presses the flat of his tongue to his lip, “Why wasn’t he supposed to call me?”

“I didn’t want to take this out on you,” Alex admits, the words make his teeth ache.

“But it’s my fault right?” Michael says with such earnestness it breaks Alex’s heart all over again. He’s been doing a good job giving Michael space he hasn’t seen how that can be interpreted. How much it plays into Michael’s own issues. Of the people who Michael associates with family, he’s one of the few that’s out here. “You’re hurt because of me—“

“No,” he says firmly, “we hurt each other. That doesn’t mean this is your fault.” Daring the consequences he reaches out and grabs Michael’s hand. Michael’s first instinct is to recoil but Alex holds him until the push back lessens. Thankfully it does. He still has that, “what I meant was we can’t go back to being friends like we were before,” the recoil comes back, “but we will figure out a new way to have a relationship, okay? I promise, we will.”

“We switched,” Michael says. Alex doesn’t fully understand again, “I hurt you and you went and did something drunk and stupid.”

There’s an understanding in Michael’s eyes that Alex wishes like hell wasn’t there. Michael shouldn’t have to be on the other side of this. Alex feels like he’s put them in this position and Michael can never know how sorry he is for that. Or how he feels painfully relieved when Michael softens slightly, just enough to let their legs touch.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Alex says, “this is a horrible feeling.”

Michael laughs harshly.

“Other side’s no picnic either,” he says. Alex nods. Michael looks at him silently for a moment, “I wanted it to be easy,” he says, “it’s not easy,” Alex shifts closer as Michael bites deeper into his lip, “it just hurts,” he says and his voice breaks along the last word, “it hurts so much.”

Alex gets an arm around him as Michael breaks. Alex can feel all the sharp pieces but he’s never been afraid of them. Not when they’re Michael’s. Michael’s one had remains clenched in his and before long the other gropes towards him. Alex grabs it back, wrapping Michael’s own arms around him. It’s some kind of horrible, horrible manifest of the people Michael can depend on and right now that only seems to be himself. Alex knows he has to let Michael decide when he can come in but it kills him to be so far. All he can do is hold his hands and rest his cheek against Michael’s shoulder and hope that will somehow, impossibly, be enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Can u follow up the drunk one and where alex is crying? Part 3?

Very few people have seen Michael weep.

Even fewer have been allowed to touch him.

This is the first time he’s been held like this though. He feels grounded, like he won’t fly apart into a million pieces if he makes noise. And he is making noise, terrible and embarrassing sounds that spill from his lips even when he tries to stop them. He’s supposed to be here making sure Alex is okay, not the other way around. But all he sees is Alex, drunk and upset, telling him they cannot be friends because of what he did. Alex dying by the side of the road. Or in the middle of it. It’s his fault again, just like his mom. It feels like he’s choking on air but Alex moves his hand to rub wide circles on his back and he’s able to exhale. Finally he can hear Alex and match the vibrations from his chest to the low stream of words he says.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, “I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“This is about you,” Alex says, looking at him sincerely.

“But you—“ he can’t seem to get a full sentence out around the desperate need for air, “you—“

“Michael,” Alex disentangles his grip to cup his face, “let me take care of you for once. Please.”

Consent has never been an issue with them. When it comes to the physical at least, they both are careful and respectful of each other’s boundaries. Their issues have always been everything else. Michael ducks his head, though he knows it’s the nod he can’t give. Or it’s as close as he’ll let himself get. Alex gets up and motions Michael into the kitchen. Michael grabs their coffee cups and follows him. He looks back at the pills but Alex shakes his head.

  
“Most of them are for emergencies,” he says, “I’m mostly weaned off.”

“So you weren’t in any danger?” He says.

“No, it was still a stupid thing to do,” Alex says, getting out eggs and bacon, “you probably saved my life.”

“You’d have gotten home fine,” Michael says. The idea of him saving Alex’s life is laughable. Alex has been through hell and back, he doesn’t need anyone saving him. Least of all someone like Michael. It’s a nice thought though, being worthy of being someone like Alex’s hero. He realizes Alex is talking. Heat flares up his cheeks, “sorry, I spaced out. What?”

“I said how do you like your eggs?” Alex asks and then stops, “did you become a vegetarian?” Michael laughs and Alex scoffs, “dumb question.”

“But sweet of you to ask,” he says getting up and coming over, “how can I help?”

“You want to help me make breakfast?” Alex asks.

Michael nods.

“I got a hotplate back at the airstream. Wait till you see what I can do with multiple burners.”

“How about you make the bacon,” Alex says, fishing out a skillet and handing it to him. Michael wraps his left hand around it. He’s still not used to this. Neither is Alex from the look of it. Michael gives the closest thing he can to a smile and hefts the skillet. It’s distracting to watch Alex crack eggs into a bowl and scramble them. His muscles should not look that good and the eggs should not get that fluffy that quickly. Alex catches his eye and gives him a questioning look.

“I’m just trying to think of what younger us would think of this,” he admits.

“‘Where the hell’s my leg?’” Alex deadpans, moving to the fridge for something. 

Michael snorts with laughter. Alex chuckles in response before getting butter out of the fridge. Michael lays the bacon out in the pain. It starts bubbling immediately. A bubble of grease pops up and hits his hand. It’s such a surprise he jumps, even though it doesn’t hurt. Alex comes over, setting the butter to the side and presses a cube of ice against the small grease spot. The cold makes Michael equally as jumpy.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he tries to explain, “it’s just weird.”

“I get it,” Alex says. Michael looks at him curiously, “any time someone touched the bottom of my leg I jumped for a long time,” he says. Every step Alex takes is on that part of him now. Michael cringes at the thought, “you’ll adjust,” he says. 

“You sure about that?” Michael asks. Alex nods.

“Hold that,” he says, nodding to the ice.

“No, it’s okay,” Michael jumps to the pan, “I got it.”

Alex backs off as he tends to the bacon. If this is the only job he can do in this mess, he’s gonna do it. Earning his place is a constant thing for Michael. It has been his entire life, ever since the Evans made it clear he wasn’t worthy of theirs. Alex has made him feel equally unworthy, but it’s happened later in life. Michael can see past the emotion to the host of factors that make Alex different. Most of the time anyway. He sets the bacon to blot and looks around as Alex melts butter and adds the eggs.

“Plates?” He asks.

“Cabinet over my shoulder,” Alex says, “can you get past? Let me just—“

Lateral movement isn’t always easiest for Alex. He’s gotten better but sometimes if he rocks wrong or puts pressure awkwardly, he can lose his balance. He still doesn’t trust his leg completely and as someone whose jumping every time he hits his hand, Michael sympathizes. If the injury has taught him anything it’s that he can do most things with a limited number of good fingers. Alex doesn’t believe that about his leg yet. But Michael manages to steady him.

It’s one of those moments where everything goes quiet and still.

Michael remembers telling Alex a long time ago that music quieted the chaos inside him. He never had a chance to tell him that it wasn’t just the music that did it. Now he’s not sure he has the right to say that anymore. Even as he steadies Alex from hitting the ground. Alex is warm and the fabric of his shirt is soft and a wave of want crashes over Michael that’s so sharp and fierce, it may as well be an attack.

“Sorry,” he says, “you good?” Alex looks stunned but nods and quickly turns back to the eggs. Michael slips to the cabinet and gets down the plates, “forks?”

“Drawer beneath the cabinet,” Alex says.

Michael tries very hard to ignore the color that splotches high on Alex’s cheeks. He would say that there’s something comforting about knowing he’s not the only one affected by what happened, but that’s not true. Knowing he affects Alex has never really been the issue. It’s Alex being okay with being affected. And considering the job he’s doing on the eggs, Michael knows they aren’t there yet. Not that they ever will be, given what’s happened.  He moves the bacon to the table. Alex comes over with the skillet and carefully divides up the eggs. Michael tries to smile but he can feel the expression come and go quickly under Alex’s look. Shit, he can’t even smile right. He really has fucked this up. He hears Alex do that deep breath thing he always does before he faces something.

“I should—“

Alex kissing him is not what he was expecting when he turned around. A surprised sound escapes him but Alex’s mouth is insistent against his own. Michael sinks into the kiss. He’s learned to take what he can, when he can. Even if he always wants more. He and Alex are just about the same height but Alex tugs him back and leverages himself up against the sink. Michael is all too glad to push his hips against Alex’s, helping to hold him there. Michael never wants to stop kissing him in that moment. He pushes closer and he can feel how badly Alex is affected. No matter what happens next. he wants to keep this moment selfishly for himself. Tuck it next to all the other moments where he has Alex like this, moments Michael would say are his most treasured position. Even when Alex separates, they continue to exchange light, almost teasing kisses that drive Michael wild.

“Food’s getting cold,” Alex gets out unsteadily, “I don’t have a microwave.”

“I’ve got something else—“ he starts but Alex puts a hand on his chest.

“Breakfast.”

It’s very, very hard to take Alex with any kind of authority when Michael’s wreaked havoc on his mouth. His lips are kiss swollen and his cheeks are flushed. His hands are white knuckle on the sink like he has to hold himself back or up. Something in Michael’s chest stirs at the sight of him like that. God, how long has it been since he’s seen him that way? Since he’s made him look that way? He leans forward and Michael catches him with his hand to his sternum.

“You’re eating breakfast,” he says, “food breakfast.”

“That’s a hard order,” Michael says.

The look Alex gives him as Michael stands there is unmistakably Alex. It’s a look Michael never wants to see off Alex’s face. But something makes Michael stay there. He can’t say what. But he can’t move. Something shifts and it’s not something he has the words to explain like he wishes he did. Alex’s face softens. Now it’s a look that Michael sees even less often, which is saying something. Alex relaxes against the sink as Michael stands there, his hands softening against the metal.

“Can this just be breakfast?” Alex asks.

“I don’t know,” Michael says, finally, “can we talk about what just happened?”

Alex looks pained for a moment.

“We have to talk about more than that,” he says finally.

“Eventually.”

“Soon,” Alex says.

“Soon,” Michael agrees.

He’s just kissed Alex senseless against the sink and there’s breakfast getting cold behind them but he lifts his left hand and for the first time in a decade, he sticks his pinky out. Alex stares at him and Michael raises his eyebrows. It’s hard to take seriously, he’ll be the first to admit that and maybe there’s a bit of a smile on his face but at the same time his heart is pounding in his ears. Finally Alex hangs his head and raises his hand, hooking his piny around his. His left hand has long been a reminder of things and promises made. All that’s gone but maybe there’s another way.

Even if it means being an alien pinky swearing with a grown man.


End file.
